DRESSING DOWN

Cody threw open the door to us with a cry of welcome and a flourish of his shepherd’s crook. “Happy Valentine’s day!”

I gripped my gift bottle of wine very tightly and stared at him. “Good God, what did you come as? Bo Peep?”

Cody’s baby-blue eyes gazed back at me. He frowned slightly, creating a thin but cute line above the bridge of his straight nose. His blond curls fell messily over his forehead and his handsome irritation made him look like some cherub who – despite the pretty gift tag - had just clambered out of a slightly-soiled Lucky Dip bran tub and was hunting the guy who put him there in the first place. He was probably trying for an imperious look, but I wasn’t too sure he pulled it off. “Do not take the name of my boss in vain.” he snapped, sweeping over his shoulder what looked like my mother’s curtains, though rather more luridly decorated. “I am an archbishop, Joey. Can’t you tell?”

I shook my head, trying to keep my face straight. “I thought you said ‘Tarts and Vicars’ for the party, Cody, not an open choice of whatever member of church hierarchy takes your fancy.”

“It’s my party,” Cody glowered, obviously already a little the worse for his infamous rum punch, “so I’ll wear whatever damned denomination I choose.”

“Right.” I laughed and moved into the hallway. Quiet footsteps followed behind me but I didn’t turn around.

“The jackets go upstairs in the guest room, no one’s staying there tonight.” Cody waved the crook about in a rather dangerous-looking way, then was momentarily distracted by Bren’s hand on his shoulder.

Bren nodded over to me, a tight look around his mouth. I didn’t miss the firm grip he had on his boyfriend. “Had a little trouble turning him away from impersonating God Almighty, Joey, so an archbishop is considerably more modest. Think yourself lucky.”

I grinned back at him. “Delusions of grandeur, eh?” I handed my jacket to another guest, already on their way upstairs with a pile of them.

“I see you made the supreme effort, Joey,” Cody snapped, running his eyes up and down my modest black evening jacket and a white collar made from a strip of milk carton. “It’s a fancy dress party, you know.”

“Oh, really?” I saw Bren wink at me and I smiled at Cody, not wanting to provoke him any further. “Of course I know, but we were a bit short on funds again this year. I’m not big on dressing up, you know that.”

Bren cracked a smile. “No National Elf Service this year?”

“Right.” I frowned at him. Last year’s Trick or Treating expedition hadn’t been my finest fashion hour. “If you feel the need to mention that costume again, it’ll be the last thing you do before I…”

“What? Do what?” Bren squared his shoulders instinctively, as if he really would fight. I sometimes forgot he’d been a promising boxer, but it looked pretty odd considering he was dressed as a paunchy monk. Seemed like the rum punch had been doing the rounds among all the guests.

Cody peered at us both, suspicious of any trouble, but the effect was diluted because his gaze was so blurred. When he realized we were both smiling, he grinned as well. And then hiccupped. It was an odd combination, but from the fond way Bren was gazing at him, obviously cute if you liked that kind of thing.

“I know what takes my fancy…” Bren murmured. His head dipped to rest at Cody’s neck and his hand brushed Cody’s brocaded hip. “He keeps saying I have to kiss his ring.”

I winced. “I’ll leave you to that, if you don’t mind. But good costumes, guys. Cody – very high church. And you look…monkish, Bren.”

Bren preened: no other word for it. Another odd look on a religious brother. “It was the only damned thing we could find that’d fit my build, actually.” Cody’s eyes ran over Bren’s build as his boyfriend spoke, nodding enthusiastically. He ran a hand slowly down Bren’s arm, a very muscled limb under the shapeless brown fabric. They glanced at each other. Cody flushed even more.

Good God. I smiled ruefully. “I’ll go through to the kitchen, shall I?” It was a rhetorical question, apparently, because neither of them took a blind bit of notice of me. I started off down the hallway and the other pair of footsteps followed shortly after. Ahead of me, I could see the open doorway of the kitchen, other guests spilling out, laughing, holding glasses of punch. Many of them were young men, wearing clerical white collars and dark suits, most of which looked far more professional than mine. A fewer number of young women were there too, in low-cut dresses and high heels. I raised a hand and waved to some of the people I knew.

Still in the hallway, Cody gave a sharp cry. Bren gasped. Behind me, I knew that the man who had accompanied me into the house was now in full view.

Gaz stepped forward, illuminated in the hallway between the bright lights from the kitchen and the streetlight from outside the front door.

Gaz. My boyfriend. I didn’t turn around, but I smiled to myself.

*

It had been a tricky couple of minutes, as I wriggled my way through to the punch bowl and grabbed two glasses. It was just about enough time for every pair of eyes to have swiveled toward the door, gawped at the pair of us and widened even further. But then the voices had risen again with the hubbub of people enjoying themselves at a party, and with the luxury of someone else’s drinks. Move along, people, nothing to see here.

I turned back slowly to see Cody stumbling down the hallways after us, nearly tripping up on the curtain cloak. His eyes were very, very fevered. “Gaz.”

“What?” said Gaz, calmly. He turned deliberately, to meet his host’s shocked gaze. “It’s extraordinarily rude to st-stare like that, you know.”

I touched his shoulder and smirked. “Maybe he wants to convert you, Gaz.”

Cody’s gaze ran up and down Gaz’s body. “I don’t see that happening, do you? Not if you can come out in public like…”

“Like?”

“Like…that,” Bren spluttered from behind him. His arm held high like he was denouncing unbelievers, he stabbed a finger in Gaz’s direction.

I smiled and shrugged. This was an even better effect than Gaz and I had envisaged. “So you want the name of Gaz’s dressmaker. Whatever.” I turned to Gaz. “Shall I get you a drink?”

He turned back to me, nodded and smiled.

God. His smile still undid me, even after these months together. The twinkle of desire in his eyes, the dimple of mischief in his left cheek. The cute way his hair never lay flat on the right side of his head and curled around his ear so I could just reach over and tuck it back…

How the hell did I ever think he was shy? Only last year, I thought he was a great but nervous friend, always unassuming, often stuttering. Now we were still great friends, of course, but the unassuming thing had…passed. Ohh, yes. Since he tricked me to himself last Halloween and we decided we should move on from just friends. Now we dated and we made out and he chuckled when he reached for me and his hands were never still and when he pushed me back down on the bed…

Yeah. Unassuming was so last year. And the stutter? Was hardly ever there nowadays.

He met my look: he winked.

Bren and Cody were still carrying on. “What’s my cousin Ginger going to say?” Bren sounded scandalized. “I only just came out to her parents. She nagged and nagged to come to the party, but if she goes telling them what kind of people I know…” He glanced over at us, furtively. “And what they wear!”

Cody hushed him. “Hey, it’s okay. Vince’s girlfriend is looking after her.”

Bren sucked in a breath. “Lily?”

Cody gave a soft, anguished moan. “Sorry. Of course. I didn’t think. Lily’s costume…”

“…how is that any better?” Bren hissed. “She’s taken Tart to a whole new level.”

It was Cody’s turn to glance over at us. He raised his perfectly formed eyebrows. “No,” he said to Bren, out of the corner of his mouth but loud enough so I could hear. “Lily is so last season, as of now. I’ve seen the future and it’s in stockings and lace pouch. Wearing a silk corset.”

“And it shaves of a morning,” muttered Bren, brokenly.

I laughed, just as Gaz tugged at my arm to follow him into the lounge. There were plenty of guests at the party already. I paused in the doorway with Cody on my heels, and looked over the room.

Vince arrived behind us, leaning over Cody’s shoulder, also surveying the room. He was wearing a cardinal’s cassock and a snug silk-covered cap on his well-groomed hair. On Vince, it looked as urbane as an Armani suit. Absentmindedly, he adjusted the mitre on Cody’s blond head. I suspected it had slipped with the shock.

“Too many Vicars, Cody,” he complained, cheerfully. “Not enough Tarts. As I might have expected from your circle of friends, pretty boy. You did put both on the invitations?”

“I did,” said the blond, faintly. “But I guess I know more men than girls. And I’d expect them to prefer the clerical option…”

“Guess you should watch your political correctness,” smirked Vince. “For that’s most definitely a man over there, in that scarlet corset and black stockings.”

“Well, Vince, that’s…”

But Vince had suddenly realized, with no time for the news to be broken gently. His exclamation was in his native Italian and was also – I’d learned plenty of vocabulary over the years of being his friend – hideously coarse. His eyes, like everyone else’s, gawped and widened. “That’s Gaz!”

Cody closed his eyes in his impression of a long-suffering religious martyr. I just smiled.

“Mother of all Loose Women.” Vince gave a low whistle, and there was definitely a hint of admiration in his tone. “It is Gaz!”

*

Moving to join my lover, I nodded to the girls as I passed them: Vince’s girlfriend Lily and Bren’s younger cousin Ginger. I glanced at Ginger’s glass and reassured myself it looked like soda. They nodded back but they weren’t remotely interested in me. They leaned back, propped up against the wall, their shoulders nudging like good friends. They were bitching, too.

And I knew all too well who was in the firing line. Despite the murmur of voices around me, I heard every word.

“He looks damned good,” Lily muttered. Her hair was worn up high with a complex collection of pins which a more modest person might have better employed keeping her shirt fastened across her push-up bra. “Obviously knows when to keep heels below four inches. And let’s face it, ankle straps are so thickening.”

Ginger stared across the room at Gaz, as if she wanted to memorize every detail. “Has he shaved his legs, do you think?”

“Never mind them,” Lily snapped. She took a too-large swig of her drink. “I so wish I hadn’t done pink tonight. This leather mini skirt makes my buttocks sweaty.” She twisted against the wall, grimacing. “At least it doesn’t make my ass look fat, did you see that girl in the kitchen?” She glanced at Ginger’s costume and pursed her lips. “Are you sure, dear, the fishnets were a good idea, with your knees?”

Ginger blinked hard, but wisely kept her eyes on Gaz and me. She shifted awkwardly in her fur-trimmed baby-doll shortie. “He has stockings, too. They look like silk. And that looks like…”

Just at that moment, I reached Gaz’s side. He slid an arm around my shoulders and turned his back to the rest of the room – and the girls.

“…a thong!” came the barely-hushed female chorus of shocked outrage from behind us.

I rubbed my nose against Gaz’s and grinned. He looked a bit flushed, but he was grinning, too. I touched my lips to his.

Lily gave a loud cough and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two of them move away from the wall. Knowing Lily, I suspected she was in search of more punch. “Do you think he waxes?” came the thin thread of Ginger’s voice as she was hustled out of the room.

Bren appeared beside us. “Guys.” He didn’t seem able to take his eyes off the black silk lacing up the front of Gaz’s corset. Nor did he seem to have anything more in the way of conversation.

Gaz’s hair was a little messed, the bangs tickling at the corners of his deep, dark eyes. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his throat. I gave him my drink for a moment while I straightened my collar and he stood there calmly, holding a drink in each hand. I’d rarely seen anyone stand as confidently in black high-heeled pumps.

Bren cleared his throat. “Why did you… ah…choose this particular costume, Gaz? You could have come as a Vicar, too.”

Gaz’s eyes sparkled, rather dangerously. “And you could have come as a T-tart, Bren.”

“I…I could,” Bren said, weakly. “But…I didn’t. Did I?” He glanced down at his own glass of drink. Perhaps he was wondering how heavy-handed Cody had been with the mix. “You…er…ever done anything like…this, before? You know. The clothes…”

I took back my drink. “Is there a problem, Bren?” I asked, kindly.

“No. Of course not.”

Gaz seemed to take pity on his friend’s discomfiture. “It’s just for t-tonight, Bren. I thought it’d be a laugh, you see. In the spirit of the occasion. We’re all amongst friends here, aren’t we?”

“A laugh,” Bren repeated.

“Yes,” said Gaz. “That’s the purpose of fancy dress, isn’t it?”

He looked at me for confirmation. I wondered if I looked as flushed as I felt: hot with desire and swelled with pride. For him. Barely a single stutter – not a single other sign of nerves. His eyes dropped away, but he was still smiling. Apparently quite casually, he rested his free hand on his waist and tilted his hips. It pushed out his groin and made the silk of his stockings tighten on his thighs.

My groin tightened, too.

I took a deep breath and glanced once more around the room. I wondered for how long I could enjoy the look of strangled shock on Vince’s face; the unadulterated envy on the faces of our girl friends. Rather more unkindly, I wondered how long I should torment the look of unbidden lust on Bren’s. Gaz was right – it was, indeed, a laugh. I wasn’t sure when I’d last had such fun.

Gaz took my arm, pulling me closer. He was still looking at Bren, who was staring back with wide eyes. His drink lolled in his hand, dripping over the edge of the glass on to the carpet. “Bravery’s not just about fighting, Bren. Sometimes it’s just trying something different; playing a different role.” He pressed his mouth to my ear. “An exciting one.”

I don’t think I was entirely in control of my reactions. I was just a rather messy swirl of emotion and sensation. I slid my hand around the back of his neck, caressing the skin, and his head pushed back against my fingers, nuzzling into the touch. His eyes looked a little unfocused, but he smiled one last time at Bren’s look of struggling incomprehension. “And, of course…Joey asked me to.”

I made a soft sound of delight. My free hand ran down his back, sliding over the soft, boned silk of the corset until my palm nestled over the firm, muscled bulge of his bare ass.

Bren left, rather swiftly, and – as far as I could tell – in the direction of where we last saw Cody.

*

I’ve always been pretty good at recognizing when a party’s coming to its natural end. I’d been to get Gaz another drink, but a lot of the visitors had already left, and the ones that were left were flagging. Vince was slumped in a chair in the lounge, but he’d fallen asleep. Someone had put his cap into his lap and filled it with what looked like strawberry jelly. I didn’t want to be around when he woke up and put it back on his head. Over on the couch, Lily and Ginger huddled together, giggling. Lily’s pins had all fallen out of her hair, and she’d given up any pretence of keeping her shirt buttoned. Ginger had spilt cherry cola down her baby-doll and the fur trim was looking sticky. They looked happy enough. When I last talked to them, they confessed neither had found the novelty of dancing with ‘clergymen’ particularly inspiring.

According to some of my other friends, the clergymen had enjoyed the novelty of dancing with the Tarts, but that’d be another story to tell in the morning.

No-one had danced with Gaz except me. There appeared to be an exclusion zone around us. Did I give off that possessive impression? I wasn’t bothered if I did. I’d clung to him throughout the evening, and ignored the dropped jaws around us. No, strike that. I’d enjoyed the effect more and more, and I think, so had Gaz. His hands had been on me all night, whether just stroking my arm or hugging me to him.

I stepped carefully over the collapsed bodies in the hallway. Someone had sat on Cody’s mitre, and it lay in a squashed heap under the hall table. He’d drunk far too much punch and passed out. He now lay huddled on the hallway floor, snoring, his back against the wall. Bren had shed his cowl a long time ago, and sat on the floor beside his boyfriend in shorts and a tee shirt, eyes almost closed and humming something that sounded like a bastardized version of Handel’s Messiah.

Gaz came out of the lounge and looked over. Our eyes met. He flushed. I carefully put our glasses down on the hall table and waited for him to join me at the foot of the stairs. “We’ll get our jackets,” I said, though no one either listened or answered.

We went upstairs and found the guest room. There weren’t many coats or jackets left to collect now, just a small heap in the middle of the bed. It was dark in the room, but that wasn’t the reason we didn’t bother looking for ours, anyway,

I pulled the pile of clothing and bedding to one side and pushed Gaz down on to the bed. He fell flat with a curse and a laugh. One of his pumps twisted off his foot and spun over onto the carpet by the window. I followed him, tumbling with him on the mattress, kissing, nipping, my hands up under the frilled edging of his corset. He grunted, his voice muffled against one of the thick pillows.

I banged my shin on a table beside the bed. Something clunked on to the floor, I think it was either Gaz’s other shoe or the bedside lamp. Gaz shifted and I yelped, my finger caught and twisted under one of the corset bones. “Shit, Gaz, how are you meant to get this thing off?”

There was an exasperated sigh, and his head emerged from under a pile of cushions. In the dim light of the moonlight through the window, Gaz wriggled away from me and stood up on the bed. The mattress bounced a bit, but he spread his legs apart, holding his balance with care.

“Gaz?” I sat back, panting. Bemused and, let’s face it, very horny.

Gaz reached a hand to his torso, and tugged gently at an end of sweaty, silky ribbon. There was a gentle, teasing creak from the bones of the corset as it began to open wider. “I can show you,” he whispered. The garment started to peel away from his torso.

I nodded, dumbly. Then I wondered if he could see me in the dim light. Then wondered if he was going to go ahead anyway. My throat was very dry.

Gaz laughed softly. He slowly unlaced the rest of the ribbons. The corset fell down on to the bed with a rustle of silk. Gaz’s nipples were very prominent against his pale skin. It looked like he’d run a wet finger over them, making them shine. The thought of that made my throat even drier.

“Take off your shirt,” he said. Not exactly an order, but…I wriggled out of my jacket and shirt indecently quickly.

He bent forward, leaning down his leg. There was a sharp snap, and I saw the shadow of a garter belt flapping out against his tight thigh. Another snap, and another slim piece of laced elastic swung loose.

I drew in a fast breath. It sounded harsh.

Gaz’s limber silhouette bent again at the waist, and his hands started to roll something down his leg. I heard the soft whisper of sheer silk. I saw the deeper shadows of muscle on his calf: the shine of smooth, shaved flesh as it was slowly uncovered.

“Fuck,” I said, in some awe.

Gaz started to laugh, but bit it back. It had sounded nervous. “If you don’t like this…?”

“Don’t stop!” I almost snapped the words. “I mean…” I swallowed, hard. I slipped the zip of my pants because things were getting way too uncomfortable down there. “I just never thought you’d be so perfect in the part.”

“Hush,” Gaz said, throatily. “Go back to the ‘fuck’. And let’s take it from there.” He slipped his hands inside the waist strip of his briefer-than-brief briefs, and pushed them down. His cock sprang out free, thick and shining at the tip. He stood there, bobbing gently on the shifting mattress, his costume just a small pile of fabric at his feet. His body slim but muscled, the skin taut, everything very male: all male. Naked. Stripped. Mine.

I gave up pretending to be discreet with my pants. I dropped back down on to the bed, tugging them down over my hips, my legs flailing in the air, my foot catching on the hem. I cursed a couple of times, trying to keep my voice low. My cock was thickening fast, straining to be set free, pressed so hard against the seam of my briefs I thought it might be permanently disfigured.

Gaz dropped to his knees on the bed beside me, reaching out to help. The mattress creaked. Someone flushed the toilet downstairs: someone else slammed the front door behind them. The party was over. No one was going to disturb us up here.

I sighed with immense satisfaction. “You are such a Tart, Gaz.”

“A good idea of mine, eh?” He chuckled, but now his face was nestled between my thighs and his breath tickled the skin under my balls. “You can leave the money on the table. That’s if you can afford me.”

My answering laugh was deep and rich. “Aren’t I supposed to be a Vicar?” Gaz was licking slowly over the front of my briefs, warming my erection, mouthing the shape of it under the cotton. I groaned. “Is this appropriate behavior for a man of the cloth?”

”It will be,” came the thick, impatient reply. He slid his hand in under the cloth, pulled out my dick, and his mouth sank down over the swollen head. “You’re about to be well and truly unfrocked!”